


O' King, Grant Him Peace

by penitent_pieta (LordVae)



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, I'm in deep with this diarturia shit, Romance, Will add tags as I go, like absolutely in deep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23305888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordVae/pseuds/penitent_pieta
Summary: A collection of loosely connected AU oneshots in which Diarmuid Ua Duibhne is a man trying to repent for his past as a knight of the King Artoria Pendragon. The recurring wars for the land of the Holy Grail are brutal, and all Diarmuid wishes is to prove he still has his honor in the only way he can.Diarmuid-centric. With Artoria, but mostly Diarmuid.
Relationships: Artoria Pendragon | Lancer/Diarmuid Ua Duibhne | Saber, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne | Lancer/Artoria Pendragon | Saber
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	1. To protect

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I know jack shit about this fandom, but I do know Diarmuid is hot and deserves better

Artoria knew something was wrong the moment she opened her eyes. It was too quiet for a battlefield. Any sound of fighting was distant - moved on in waves past where she lay. She moved to push herself upright onto one arm, panic rising in her chest. What happened? The last thing she remembered was -

She froze, and her heart sank as she registered the weight of an arm around her abdomen, and frantically looked over her shoulder. "Lancer?"

Curled beside her, unmoving, was her Lancer of the Fourth Holy Grail War: Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. His body was around hers in way of protection, chest to her back. Artoria's hand touched his, and at the lack of response, she fully sat up and turned to him.

"Lancer?"

No response again. She swallowed hard and shuffled back some. "Lancer," she reached out to touch his shoulder, hesitantly, "Once-Lancer of Fianna, respond to me," She leaned down to hover over him and moved him onto his back, biting her lip, before turning her gaze to look at his body. Her heart sank further and more panic rose to her throat. There was so much blood. He was pallid, eyes shut against the world. The arm that hadn't been around her in protection was curled around his stomach, and she gasped as she gently moved it away.

"Diarmuid!" The time for formality was over as she realized there was little time to spare. A deep wound nearly through-and-through his stomach was the cause of the blood, and it was still seeping freely. She immediately tore into her dress, ripping strips of the cloth and hastily trying to bind the man's wound to staunch the blood flow even a little bit. "Lancer Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, I beg of you to open your eyes! I command you as your King," she spoke quickly and under her breath, mostly for herself to focus as she kept wrapping and pressing the cloth against the open wound. "Wake up, Diarmuid. Wake up."

The last moments she spent conscious with him were tense. There were too many enemies around and certainly not enough of them. She had commanded her army ahead without her, and of course her Lancer disobeyed. The Grail Wars for land power were the most dangerous and bloody of the recurring wars, he insisted, to be left alone on the battlefield was a sure death, even for the mighty Saber King. She knew it wasn't worth an argument, and they fought side-by-side, until she found herself unable to keep up with an enemy's trigger-happy magical Archer and some crazed Berserker. She was struck heavily by the Berserker, only to hear her ever-so-loyal Lancer call out her name as she fell unconscious.

Artoria admitted to herself she didn't know much about her Lancer. She'd fought against his home land in the previous Grail Wars for land. They never lasted, as they were just bands of fighters; but she'd be damned if they put up one hell of a show. She'd even fought against Diarmuid himself in the last two wars. The spear-knight of Fianna matched her evenly every clash, but yielded their fights both times, saying a war field was not the place to duel honorably and he wished to do it properly one day. It was strange to the Saber King, but she welcomed his chivalry and eagerness for honor.

That is why when Diarmuid stumbled into her kingdom a mess of a man, she welcomed him without questioning. He was on death's door, gored and bloody and feverish with infection. By all rights he should have been dead, and yet he asked for naught but water and somewhere warm. Who was Artoria to turn away from an honorable man seeking help and pleading for refuge?

Despite this, not many trusted him. She would be lying if she said she did not have her own doubts. Was he a traitor? A spy? She accused him of these things before he, on his knees, begged for peace. Honorable Diarmuid begged for another chance at life to repent for whatever had brought him at her doorstep, insisting he would draw his own blood for proof of his intent.

Artoria took into account their interactions previously, and had him swear his fealty by his name and his heritage to have a chance to repent for his all but dead previous life. He did so in a heartbeat. She trusted this man and his intentions, although she did not quite understand why.

Understanding why wasn't necessary, she came to learn, as the trust the Saber King Pendragon put into this little Lancer of Fianna paid off. Years later, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, Lancer of the Lovespot, had worked his way into being one of the finest of her knights. She never once had the need to question his loyalties, despite what advisers proclaimed. He remained kind and chivalrous to a fault, running the line of arrogance. His confidence rarely wavered, and he was only fueled by those questioning him.

She only ever pried once about what drove his need for penitence. All Diarmuid let on was that he was betrayed. Perhaps it was of his own doing - or perhaps not - but the guilt he felt was enormous. All he could do to right it was to serve her as he once did Fianna. Artoria knew what the guilt of betrayal felt like, and never pried again. If this was how he wished to wash away his sins, she would allow it.

And so that is why, upon seeing her fair and dear knight bleeding out in front of her, panic sat in.

"I cannot leave to find my sword and my Avalon to heal you, Lancer, if you do not open your eyes!"

Tears began to well in her eyes as she pressed her hands against the wound.

"Lancer, please! You have a duty to me, remember? You cannot just give up on your penitence now,"

She bit her lip. This was in vain, wasn't it?

"Diarmuid. Please."

A king should not cry, she told herself. A king should not cry, even if it is for the knight who came to beg at her doorstep to repent for a past she did not know. A king should not cry, even if it is for the knight who was ready to die for her again and again, who she knew did not feel honorable in the slightest despite all the honorable things he had done in the last years.

No king goes into battle without losses. Artoria knew this. A king will always suffer losses, even those closest to them. She'd never cried at her previous losses because kings should not cry. A king should not cry, she told herself, as she bowed her head and did so.

"Oh, Diarmuid, I'm so sorry." Artoria said softly, pressing her forehead against his chest.

"Oh.... I've... made you... cry, my lord,"

The words were soft and barely an exhale. Artoria didn't respond at first, thinking she imagined it, but her head jerked up when a ragged cough shook his body. Her hand moved up to touch his face. "Diarmuid? Are you with me?"

There was a long pause, before his eyes slid open and he pressed his cheek into her palm. "Are... you well... my lord?" Blood wet his lips and he looked very far away, but he squinted up at her as he tried to focus. "Are... are you... hurt?"

His question left Artoria dumbfounded.

Her lack of reply seemed to worry him. He shifted and began to try and push himself up despite his arms trembling at the mere prospect of movement.

"N-no, stop - Be still, Lancer," Artoria shook her head, easing him back down. "You are gravely injured. Bear with me. Bear with me while I go find my sword, and Avalon, and I can heal you, alright?" He didn't respond, eyes sliding closed. Artoria's heart jumped. "Diarmuid,"

At the call of his name, Diarmuid jolted back to semi-awareness. "A-ah... my lord. S-sorry - " he cut off to cough, wet and weak, and his hand went up to shakily cover his mouth. "I am sorry... I hurt, and - I don't think... I-I can... last..."

"Diarmuid Ua Duibhne," Artoria's hand went back to his cheek, and he nuzzled into it unwittingly, face hot and twisted with pain. He seemed only half conscious at this point. "You are my best Lancer. You are one of my finest friends. You will last, and you will continue to repent and live your second life as you have been by my side. Do you hear me, Diarmuid?" As he nodded, Artoria smiled sadly and stood. "Stay with me, I will return."

Diarmuid struggled to keep his eyes open as he watched his king hurry off. His body shook and protested in pain with each breath he took. He coughed and moved his trembling hand from his mouth only to find fresh blood.

Artoria was in the distance, retracing steps to find her weapon. Diarmuid watched for a moment, but seeing her move about back and forth made his tunneling vision swim. He shut his eyes and focused on listening to the distant cries of battle, trying to blot out the pain and the ever-encroaching heaviness in his body that seemed to only get heavier and heavier as his head felt lighter and lighter.

He'd felt this before. He was dying, he was sure of it. He felt like a fool for being afraid. He felt his body cough, and heard himself whimper at the pain. He did not want to die, he thought. Not yet. He did not feel as if he had done enough. He felt like he'd failed. He was suddenly so aware of how heavy he felt. Fear gripped his heart. Where was Artoria? Flashes of his past echoed in his head. She wouldn't leave him to die. She wouldn't do that to him, right? A heavy cough shook his body. He was afraid. So, so afraid.

A hand touching his shoulder broke him from his thoughts. Relief washed over him. "Diarmuid, are you still with me?"

Artoria's voice sounded so far away. He wanted to open his eyes, but it seemed as if he'd forgotten how to do that. He felt so very weak. "My lord," he felt tears well under his eyelids, and he feebly grabbed onto her arm as she pulled him up into her lap. "A-Artoria. I'm scared."

"Don't be scared." Her words were lost on him as he let his head loll on her shoulder, and his body all but deflated as her magic washed over him. "I have you. I have you, Diarmuid. You'll be alright... so please rest." He nodded, letting out a soft sigh and hid his face against her neck. 

"My lord... thank you," he mumbled, very softly. She almost didn't hear it, but when the words registered her heart twisted in her chest. 

She held him tighter for a moment. "Hush, Diarmuid. Do not thank me. Just rest."

Artoria didn't need to say it again as she felt him finally relax.


	2. To sew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Artoria sees a quiet side of Diarmuid

Artoria's morning routine was simple and peaceful. She would go on a morning walk through the city square to greet her people. She'd go through individual stalls of the morning bakers, greeting them, offering brief conversation and occasionally buying a loaf of bread. It was important to her that she see the state of her people personally. And of course, on her heels, was Diarmuid.

She'd insisted to him it wasn't necessary for him to follow after her, that she was quite capable of herself, but he always came along anyway. It was no problem, he said, he needed to get up and out. He was a good company (but she would never admit that). He always asked about how she'd slept and about how her morning was going, as if he wasn't spending that very morning with her. It was nice.

He always smiled so brightly at those who passed by, paused frequently to talk to the ladies and men who were entranced by his pretty face. He just didn't seem to know how to _not_ talk to people. He never lagged too far behind, though, always somehow managing to slip away from the tiny crowd he'd gather.

"You know, if you would just say hi and walk away, you wouldn't have to break so many hearts, Diarmuid."

"It's a curse, my lord!" Diarmuid called back with a laugh as he jogged to catch up to her. "I can't help it."

"I'm sure." Artoria gave him a look and paused to let him catch up. 

"It's the truth, I swear it up and down!" He flashed her a little smile. "But I mean, it doesn't help that I like the attention sometimes."

"I'd accuse you of liking it more than sometimes."

Diarmuid jut out his lip and grabbed at his chest dramatically. "My _lord,_ you wound me."

Artoria's grumpy expression only lasted a few minutes before she laughed. "You only wound yourself, my Lancer. Come on, our rounds aren't done yet."

And so they walked, making small conversation with one another and the stall owners they stopped at to say hello to. One baker in particular caught Artoria's attention, a pretty lady with gorgeous brown eyes and red hair. She had the brightest smile and laugh as she asked her king all sorts of small questions, anywhere from "what kinds of flowers do you like?" to "how heavy is a sword?" 

She spent a long while chatting with her. The morning was moving along, and she almost forgot she had other things to do. It took her another at least 5 minutes to leave the conversation, and when finally she (reluctantly - she'd never admit to that either) pulled herself away she realized her companion wasn't where he'd last been, hovering within eyesight. Artoria blinked once then twice, and looked around in confusion. 

"Diarmuid?" she called, sighing heavily and picking some random direction to walk in. 

Artoria wandered for a while, peering around the slowly busying roads, squinting to find her companion's back amongst the people. She was thankful her routine was normalized - most people just greeted her quickly and moved on, too preoccupied with their own routines. With a heavy sigh, she stopped in her tracks, bringing a hand up to her brow as she shielded the sun from her eyes to look around.

Artoria scanned the square she paused in with a huff, and smiled when she recognized a familiar laugh and saw the back of her friend. "Ah, there you are." She waved for Diarmuid's attention, but he didn't seem to notice, as he turned around with his attention on someone she couldn't quite see, and walked off.

She frowned, tailing after him, weaving through the growing crowds. Where was he sneaking off to?

As she kept her eyes locked on his back, she realized perhaps this was a bit weird. What was she doing, chasing after him like this? It's not like this was a necessary thing for his duty. He tagged along for friendly reasons, it's not like he _had_ to stay bound to her in the mornings like this. Was it creepy? Overprotective? She stopped a moment, debating on whether or not she should just stop, but when she looked back up to gaze into the relatively empty and quiet square her knight had wandered into, her heart went soft.

Diarmuid sat on the edge of a fountain, chin resting in his hand. Two kids stood in front of him, one seeming to be crying and the other looking a bit too tired to be awake right now. 

"You gotta fix him!" the little one wailed. "Dia, you have to! Lilly doesn't know how to sew and she tried and it just doesn't look good! I brought the thread and stuff!"

The sleepy one jumped to attention and stomped. "Hey!"

The lancer smiled softly and pulled the little one up and onto his lap. "No need to be mean, Brenn. Let me see what happened to him," he held out his other hand to Lilly. "I'll fix him up really good."

Artoria watched as the little girl handed Diarmuid a teddy bear with a big gash in its chest, and then some thread with a needle. He so very gently inspected it, tenderly as is if it were a little bird.

She heard a dramatic gasp as she went to lean against a wall to listen and watch, and she found herself smiling. "Oh no! I see the problem! But don't worry, he'll be okay when I'm through!"

"He will?" the crying child sniffled and swung his legs a bit against Diarmuid's calf. The little girl walked up and leaned on his other knee, watching.

"Of course he will," Diarmuid said, threading the needle and getting to work. "And if you run back home after I fix your friend, tomorrow I'll teach you how to sew so you can show your dad just how grown up you guys are."

Lilly giggled. "Ooh! That sounds fun! Can you bring us some muffins too?"

"We'll see about that." Diarmuid laughed again. "Your dad would kill me if he knew I spoiled you guys that bad,"

Brenn puffed his cheeks. "You gotta spoil us though! What else are we gonna do before daddy comes home!"

"Maybe practice your writing? Read your books? Not spend all my money being oh-so-sweet?"

"Reading sucks."

"I don't have to visit you guys, you know!"

"Dia!"

The banter continued for a while, until Diarmuid lifted up the stuffed bear. "Ta-da! All done. Though he's got a little bit of a scar because the thread is red, I hope that's alright."

"You saved him!" Brenn snatched the bear from Diarmuid's hand and clung to it. "Thank you, Dia!"

Diarmuid smiled and rubbed Brenn's back. "Of course." He then put his hand on the top of Lilly's head and set ushered Brenn off his leg. "Alright, now, you take your brother home and wait for your dad to come back. I have to go, I have work to do and I've been gone for too long."

"You left early yesterday, too, and the day before." Brenn huffed. "And last week. Are you getting tired of hanging out?"

"No, no," Diarmuid's face flashed with... sadness? "I promise I'm not. I'm just busy, remember? I'll come tomorrow, extra early, I promise, pinky promise." He held out his pinky, and Brenn's dejected face lit up immediately and returned the gesture. "Okay! Now, your dad's off his shift soon, right?"

"Oh! You're right!" Lilly grabbed Brenn's hand and backed up, humming. "Thank you for helping, uncle Dia!"

"Yeah, thank you!" Brenn waved back at Diarmuid as Lilly dragged him along, past Artoria as they went to their home. "Oh - good morning King!"

Artoria waved after them, and then turned to see Diarmuid standing to attention with his cheeks red. "O-oh, my lord, you found me,"

"I didn't know you had family in my kingdom." Artoria walked up to him.

"Ah - I don't, I just watch them," he spluttered, clearly embarrassed. "I just. They want to hang out sometimes until their dad's guard shift is over. They get lonely like children do, you know,"

She smiled warmly at him. "You're very good with children, I never would have thought."

Diarmuid looked away, still very flustered. "Ah. I suppose so, my lord." He cleared his throat and motioned back to the castle. "U-um. Shall we go?"

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, it's very sweet." Artoria insisted, walking past him but not before patting his shoulder gently. "Not enough people are so sweet to kids not their own."

"I suppose I feel for them. Their father's a good man, but gone too often."

"Hm. When we get back, give me his name. I'll send word to give him some leave." Artoria walked faster, thoughtfully. "You too, Diarmuid, so you don't need to sneak around to go make some children's days."

"Wh - my lord, that's not necessary - " Diarmuid hurriedly followed at her heels.

" - Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, please. You work so hard for me. It's okay to take a breather for yourself. I won't hear your arguments, either. When we get back, go see to Bedivere to tell him."

Diarmuid blinked a few times, pausing, and his face softened a bit after a moment. "Alright, my lord. Thank you."

"And in your downtime, _uncle Dia_ , you should teach me to sew too!" Artoria could almost hear the distress in his face, and laughed.

" _My lord,_ don't tease me like that! That's unfair!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I'm so very soft for specific tropes


	3. To sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which diarmuid makes a choice  
> (reupload/edited)

"Alright, outsider. You're loyal to your king, aren't you?"

"Diarmuid, don't listen to her, please!"

The entire situation was nothing but a mess. The great Saber King Artoria, on her knees in the middle of the throne room with the blade of an Assassin to her neck. The door to the room was shut, strewn with bodies of her guard around it. In a tense stand-off across from the assassin was her lancer Diarmuid, red spear gripped tightly in his hands. He was stiff, purposely not moving, staring down the skull-masked woman threatening his king. His face betrayed not the near-panic pumping through his veins.

"Don't talk, your kingliness, or your head'll be on the floor." The blade pushed closer to Artoria's neck. "Now. Answer me, outsider. You're loyal?"

Diarmuid's voice was short. "Of course."

A chuckle came from the Assassin. "I'll bite. Show me, then." She laughed again as Diarmuid's face twitched with confusion and his eyes went to meet Artoria's in confusion.

She shook her head. "Don't listen t - ghk - "

" - Now, now, King," The blade at her neck jerked, drawing a thin line of blood, "I'm not talking to you."

"D - "

Diarmuid cleared his throat. "My lord, excuse me, but please be quiet." There was a small tremble to his words. "What do I need to do?"

The Assassin's smirk was almost audible. "Only one of you will still be standing when I leave. You decide, loyal outsider. Will it be you, or her?"

Diarmuid furrowed his brow. "I... I don't think I understand."

The Assassin laughed lightly. "Oh, come on now, Lancer boy. It's exactly as I said. I will only leave when one of you remains. So, dear outsider. Are you going to let me do my job, or sacrifice yourself for your king?" When Artoria moved to say something, the assassin cut her off. "Tut-tut, king. I've heard of your little Lancer here. Everyone has. We've all heard just how oh-so loyal he is. But is it true? I want to see for myself."

Artoria strained to catch Diarmuid's eye. Her heart was racing. He was staring down at his feet, jaw clenched, deeply in thought. The king shifted a bit, looking up at the black-clad woman with the mask when she realized she wasn't getting his attention. She could feel the smugness rolling off of her assailant, as potent as the fear in her own chest. This was impossible. This was ridiculous. How did she let herself get into this situation? She was supposed to be more cautious than this, damn it.

Diarmuid's next words hit Artoria like a ton of bricks.

"Do I have your word you will leave?"

She jerked her head around to look at him. What was he saying? What was he implying?

A gleeful noise came from the assassin, and she raised one hand in front of her, long ponytail swaying at her exaggerated movement. "Of course!"

"Swear it." Diarmuid's words were cold, gaze as unwavering as the castle walls. He held out his spear Gáe Dearg like a staff, hand clenched tightly around it. He was shaking - trying to hide it, but shaking. Artoria could see the resigned fear in his eyes and felt her heart beat harder.

The Assassin held his gaze for a while before she grunted in satisfaction, understanding Diarmuid's choice. She nodded and shifted the blade at Artoria's neck back slightly. "I, Asako, Hassan of the Hundred Faces, will leave when there is only one of you standing in this very throne room."

There was a moment of odd quiet in the room. Artoria's blood ran cold as she watched her lancer angle Gáe Dearg slightly and take a step back. She understood. She saw his body tense up and sweat bead on his forehead.

"I, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne - "

Artoria broke her silence. " _No!_ Diarmuid, I command you - " 

" - accept your conditions."

" _Diarmuid!_ "

The panic in Artoria's voice echoed in Diarmuid's ears as he forced his spear through his chest. He felt his body seize up at the pain, and he let out a strangled gasp as he watched his own blood follow his spear down to the stone floor. Crimson on grey. It was almost like his blood on the green grass after Fionn left him. Diarmuid's legs gave out almost immediately. He grunted as he collapsed forwards, further onto the spear and to his knees. His head was spinning and he heard himself make a horrid choking noise as the spear pushed further through him. He tasted and felt more blood when he coughed. _Ah... this might have been..._

" _Diarmuid!_ " Artoria pushed at the assassin - it wasn't necessary, as she'd already began to back off in satisfaction - and stumbled to her feet to get to her knight's side. "Oh, god, Diarmuid," She went back to her knees as he limply slumped forwards, catching him before he fell face-first into the floor. Artoria scrambled, holding his body tight to her chest, wincing at the sticky blood coating her hands.

"I'm impressed. When you said he'd do anything, you meant it."

Artoria was having none of it. "Leave, Assassin. You swore you would." She pressed Diarmuid's head against her shoulder as she felt him tremble. There was a response from the assassin, but it was lost to Diarmuid as he felt his king turn her full attention to him. She was saying something to him, but he couldn't retain it. He forced his eyes open to stare down at the floor, watching the blood slowly pool out like thick water. He flinched as he realized just how much of it there was. He could feel it soak into his clothes, and he frowned, knowing it was staining into Artoria's. He felt so very heavy. Part of him knew his spear had to leave his body, but the other part of him knew it was the only reason why he hadn't bled to death quite yet.

Yet.

He sucked in a weak breath at the thought and immediately retched, coughing, blood spluttering out. He blinked once, twice, and frowned against Artoria's shoulder as he saw the blood seep into the cloth. Something about it made his heart ache and he turned his head to rest his forehead against her neck.

"Sorry," he breathed. She was yelling out - calling for help? He didn't know. "I'm sorry."

Artoria tensed as he spoke. "What? " 

"I've stained your clothes, my lord." His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. "I'm sorry." He felt Artoria move him, felt her warm hands on his sweaty cheeks, squinted as she moved his head to make eye contact.

"Stop that." Her voice was nearly a sob. "Stop worrying about me. What were you thinking?"

"I..." _I had to protect you._ He wheezed when found that he couldn't make the words. He couldn't focus on her face, either. She was so very blurry. He sighed and closed his eyes. She said more, but he couldn't bring himself to keep listening to the words. He felt his usually still hands shaking and realized just how lightheaded he felt. _Ah..._

"Am I dying?" The words left his mouth before he could actually think. He felt fear in his stomach and pressed his forehead against Artoria's. "I'm - I'm dying,"

"No, stop," Artoria held him closer and sobbed softly into his hair, mumbling something else. More blood pushed in the back of his throat. He coughed again, gasping, feeling it all but pour from his lips. He didn't realize until now just how hard it was to breathe. Must be blood in his lungs, he thought. He looked back up at his king. Tears were streaming down her face. His heart twisted again. 

"Artoria. I'm sorry." 

He heard Artoria begin to say something, but her words were lost to the ringing in his ears. _Oh, god, I'm sorry._ He gripped onto her arm with one hand and onto Gáe Dearg with the other. _I..._ His thoughts left him and his head began to spin. He mumbled his apology again as his sight blurred. His breath hitched in the back of his throat before he felt himself lurch, almost seize, into Artoria's arms, and the last he heard was her calling his name before he faded into nothingness against his king.

-

Diarmuid didn't quite know what was going on. He was aware, but only vaguely. Everything was dark and still, and he felt warm. Almost comfortable. There was a numbness around him, a dull ache somewhere distant. He didn't know where it was coming from. He felt detached - no idea where he was, just almost... floating in emptiness.

When didn't even know what got him to this point. What happened? When he strained, the last thing he could really remember was a lot of pain. His king crying. No matter how hard he thought, he couldn't remember what happened. Couldn't remember why this distant ache was even an ache, or where he even was. He didn't like not remembering how he got somewhere.

Somewhere in the empty distance, he could hear a voice. Too muffled to hear fully, but there. It was something to grab a hold of, to focus on.

He could feel his body come back to him. Fingers, legs. He could feel himself furrow his brow, and heard himself sigh. The voice that he'd anchored himself to was clearer now. He felt something cool on his arm, and then his face. 

"Mm. Cold." His voice came out more hoarse than he'd expected.

"Diarmuid,"

He fully opened his eyes at the sound of his name. He squinted immediately, turning his head away from the rays of sunlight in his face. He was in his own home, he noticed, on his own bed. He let them drift back to the window, cracked open and letting the chilly breeze in, then to the source of the voice that pulled him from sleep. Artoria. She was standing at his side, eyes soft with worry. "Hello."

"How do you feel?" She moved to help him sit up. He winced, jerking his hand to the pain lancing through his chest. "Is it bad? Merlin said you'd hurt for a little bit,"

"No," Diarmuid frowned slightly at how tired the action of sitting made him. "Is fine." He felt heavy - worn out and groggy and fuzzy and all sorts of out of it. He leaned against the arm propping him up, and she sat down beside him to let him rest his weight against her side. He closed his eyes. She was acting different. "Are you okay?"

"D - Diarmuid," Artoria wavered a bit. "I'm alright. Just... worried, for you. Please don't worry about me."

He let out a sigh. "I'm... tired..." he mumbled, squeezing his fist over his bound chest. It ached exceptionally badly. "And. Mm... sore." He couldn't quite remember why he was so tired or sore. "What happened?"

Artoria eased him back down. Diarmuid didn't object one bit. "We can talk about it when you feel a bit better."

When he felt Artoria move to sit up, he reached out and weakly grabbed at where he assumed her arm was. "Will you stay?"

Artoria's face softened as she watched his fingers lightly wrap around her wrist. She brought her other hand to rest on his, and nodded. "Of course. Anything for you."

"There's... food. And... mm... I have books." He seemed to be already dozing.

"Alright, Dia." Artoria brushed his hair from his face. "Rest, now."

And so through the night, she stayed.


	4. To hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Artoria notices Diarmuid has withdrawn, ever since his near-foolish display of loyalty with his spears, and wishes him to open up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah it's Diarturia time. 
> 
> Except Lartoria and Sabermuid specifically.

The day Artoria asked her Lancer why he had stopped using his famous weapons, was the day she realized he refused to look at himself.

They were talking in the throne room, standing at one of the big glass windows that loomed down at the city. Diarmuid was behind her, watching the sunset over the walls of Camelot. They talked about many things, but something seemed... off. A tension in the air. She saw it then: the confirmation of something wrong - in the window's reflection, when she asked why he had been preferring his swords. At the mention of his spears, Diarmuid winced and brought his hand to his chest. He furrowed his brow, scowled at himself, and tore his eyes away from the windows.

"My hands shake less." His response was quiet, as if ashamed. "I hope that's alright."

Artoria's heart twisted a bit. "Of course that's alright," she turned to look at him, concern knitting on her face. "Lancer or saber, you're still my knight, Diarmuid."

He offered a wistful smile in response as he took a step away. "Ah. I appreciate that, my lord. I - I think I'll take my leave, if that's acceptable." His reply wavered a bit.

"Are you okay?" She reached out and took a hold of his hand before he got too far. "You've been distant."

They were never all that intimate, but... they were close. She knew something was wrong and had been for a while: he was smiling less, their 'accidental' touching of arms and foreheads-on-shoulders were all but gone, their intimate moments walking down the halls were few and far between... he even avoided his nearby room in the castle for his home in the city square.

Diarmuid's face flashed with something akin to grief. He seemed to measure his words, but his response simple: "I'm alright, my lord. If I may."

Artoria let him pull away and watched his back as he left.

He was a bad liar.

-

They were sparring when she learned the capacity of Diarmuid's... acute wariness to certain weapons.

The king had begun playing around with different weaponry - she was finding enjoyment in spearmanship, and wished to test her mettle against Diarmuid's swordsmanship. Their distance had continued to grow since she caught his hesitance in the throne room before, but this was always a way to bring a sense a normalcy back.

It was in good fun, at first. They traded swings to get a feel for the skill level of the other, and before long they were back and forth faster than one could keep up with.

"You're as good with the sword as you are with your spears," Artoria smirked, deflecting the flat of his blade away from her with a timed flourish.

"Your spearmanship is admirable as well, my lord." Diarmuid's voice was more strained, but he still grinned back. "Almost as good as I am," He backed off into a defensive stance, bringing Moralltach and Beagalltach up in a cross formation. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Almost?" Artoria laughed at the challenge and rushed forwards. She brought the speartip down and stomped down on one foot to stop suddenly. Diarmuid moved to lunge forward at her pause, red sword swinging low - but in that movement, Artoria launched herself up and flipped the spear up with the flick of her wrist. She grunted in satisfaction as she caught Diarmuid off guard - he gasped and staggered backwards as she weaved it through the gap in his arms and thrust it up towards his chest.

_"Stop - !"_

Artoria halted her lunge immediately as a yelp tore from her partner. She'd never heard that from him before - raw fear, panic. His yellow sword hit the ground with a metallic thud.

"Diarmuid?" She blinked in confusion, trying to get a read of his expression. He was frozen, staring down at the spear tip pressed in the middle of his chest. His eyes were wide and his breath was everywhere, hand in front of him as if to say 'stop'. The king's smile faded. She was afraid to move - she didn't understand what was going on, or what happened.

That is, until she saw his hands. They were shaking. His entire body was trembling, just like when he had... for the Assassin...

It clicked just then.

"Diarmuid," Artoria let go of the spear immediately. "Shit - I'm sorry, I didn't think," It clamored to the ground, and Diarmuid's red sword followed as he dropped it.

"I-I'm - sorry -" his words came out in gasps, fist grabbing at his chest as he went down to his knees. He was hyperventilating. "I'm - I'm - "

"Hey," Artoria cut him off and knelt, moving to be close to him. "Just breathe," She reached one hand out to put against his cheek. He uneasily pushed his face into her palm and tried to steady himself like she had ordered. He was shaking so badly. God, she felt horrible. She should've realized, she should have remembered. Of course he would be in pain - no wonder Gáe Dearg and Gáe Buidhe have been gone.

After what felt like a long while of heaving and wordless apologies, Diarmuid's panic seemed to dissipate. She waited another moment before she very slowly helped him up and guided him back inside of the castle. His demeanor had all but deflated, head bowed, and when they settled in a private place to sit, he reached for her hand to hide his face once more.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Artoria spoke gently. "I didn't realize that you were still hurting like this, Dia. I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay." His voice was but a whisper. "You wouldn't have known."

"You're so far away from me, Dia." Artoria tried to read his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "Please. Talk to me. I want to know what's wrong."

"...I'm alright." He shook his head after a long moment of pause and thinking. Artoria's heart sunk as she could almost _feel_ him withdraw.

"Diarmuid."

"I'm alright, Artoria."

She could feel the lies open a pit between them, but said nothing in response.

-

"Talk to me about what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, my lord."

"You're a terrible liar,"

They were out on a hunting trip, taking a break to judge the weather. It was overcast and windy and the air smelled of rain, so they opted to pause and get their bearings. She took her chance, then, as Diarmuid was knelt beside the lake they braked beside. They had barely said a word since the incident with the spear. The tension was unbearable, she decided.

"I'm not lying. You're overreacting, my lord." His tone was almost cold.

"Overreacting?" Artoria's eyes narrowed at his back. "You can't spar against a spear anymore, much less hold one. You, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, _First Spear of Fianna_ , can't bear to look at one. And that's _'nothing'?_ "

Diarmuid flinched. "You know why I can't."

"I do. But I know it runs deeper than that."

He raised his head. "It doesn't, Artoria. You're overreacting."

The words sparked a flame in her gut, and she stomped forward to stand at his side. "It doesn't? Look at yourself, then. In the water. Look at your reflection."

Diarmuid looked up at her. "What's that going to prove?" He wavered a bit. She heard it and frowned deeper, keeping eye contact.

"Do it."

"I - "

"Now."

Diarmuid's jaw tensed and he obeyed wordlessly, whipping his head down to stare at his reflection in the lake. She watched, noting his expression go through frustration, then some form of pain, before he finally winced and jerked away from the water. He stood up in a hurry, starting to rush back to the horses.

Artoria followed and grabbed his arm. "Talk to me, damn it! You can't even _look_ at yourself, Diarmuid, do you think me a fool?!"

"Let go," Diarmuid twisted to face her to jerk away his arm, but her other hand immediately went for his other wrist. "Artoria - let me go! I'm fine, I'm just a knight, it shouldn't matter -"

"Shut up and talk to me!" Artoria stepped up to meet him. She tightened her grip on his arms as she kept speaking. She was almost offended. "I'm not just your king! You are more than my knight, Diarmuid, I do not know how to make this any clearer to you! You're hurting and I see it because you won't look at me the same way, and you can't even look at _yourself_ on top of it! You are _far_ more to me than a knight, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, let me treat you as more, let me care and love you as I do! I do _not_ know where you got this idea of you are 'just a knight' but you listen to me, you're more than some - some expendable thing in an army!"

Diarmuid was silent. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it as she continued on, more quiet now.

"I don't know if it is _me_ who makes you feel as if you can't talk or speak, but I _do_ see you, Diarmuid. I hear you. I see you shy away from looking at yourself. I see you refuse the spears and lances. You refuse to let yourself talk to me. Please, Diarmuid. Let me - let me listen to you. Let me hear you."

"I..." He tensed up and broke eye contact, hesitant. It had started raining by now. Artoria stared at him and let go of his arms, instead moving to gently touch his face, and he sighed softly. "I feel like a fool."

"A fool?" She blinked rain from her eyes.

He tilted his head into her hands and looked back up at her. "I did what I had to do to protect you. Like any knight would, and - and I can't stand to look at myself. I - I can't use my spears, I can't fight against them, I can't - I can't look at myself because I'm weak and what kind of knight _does_ that? What knight sees a scar of loyalty on his chest and feels like he's going to pass out because he starts to hyperventilate? What knight has to alter his entire being to cope with something he _chose_ to do? What kind of knight - god, Artoria, I feel so week and lost, like I don't deserve your attention and care and love and... " 

Artoria stepped closer as he trailed off. His eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed. She brushed his wet hair from his face and tilted her head forward, pressing her forehead against his. "Diarmuid," The king spoke softly, "You carry a burden no one should have to carry, you know that? I ask too much of you sometimes. You're so loyal to others that you won't even take care of yourself."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. You haven't done anything wrong, Dia." Artoria bumped her nose with his, satisfied when it got a smile out of him. "You're my knight. My partner. I want you to talk to me. I want to know your hurt. Trust me, Dia. Please."

"...I'll try." He opened his eyes finally to catch her smile in response. He began to pull away, but not before Artoria brushed her lips against his for the briefest of moments. She stayed there, just long enough for red to flush over his face, before she let him move away.

"Promise." Artoria's voice was soft, and she brushed over his cheek again.

Diarmuid touched her knuckles lightly with his fingers. "Promise."

And this time, Artoria noticed, he wasn't lying.


End file.
